


Loving Nudges

by SundayMoon



Series: The Smallest Clan [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Chouchou is body positive, Clubbing, F/M, Himawari is hot, Sarada is a Jounin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SundayMoon/pseuds/SundayMoon
Summary: Sarada and Boruto are a bit slow on the uptake, so Himawari takes matters into her own hands





	

“Sarada, red is definitely your color,” Himawari said, smirking at her older friend.

 

ChoCho whistled in agreement, “Get it, girl!”

 

Sarada felt her cheeks heat and self consciously tugged on the hem of the clubbing outfit the other girls had forced her into. “Shut up. All the boys are going to be so busy staring at Hima’s chest they won’t even notice.”

 

Chocho groaned, “How is the youngest one the most busty?”

 

Himawari grinned cheekily and shrugged, “You’ve seen my mother, right?”

 

“Yes, but you’re fourteen,” Sarada replied, pursing her lips.

 

“Totally unfair,” Chocho agreed. “At least I got a great ass! You’ll always have your forehead,” Chocho said to Sarada with fake sympathy, coily adjusting her own white ensemble. Sarada’s glare would’ve made her father proud.

 

“Aren’t we celebrating me ? Doesn’t that mean being nice?” Sarada demanded, although her friends light hearted teasing felt more normal than excessive kindness would’ve.

 

“Yes, yes,” Himawari said, waving her hand dismissively, “Jounin at sixteen, blah blah blah, a thousand congratulations.”

 

“But really, we’re proud girl,” Chocho said, strangely serious. Sarada blushed again as Himawari enthusiastically agreed.

 

“Of course we are! That’s why we’re paying for drinks,” Himawari cheered, “Let’s go! Losing nightlife, people.”

 

Sarada tried to look aloof and cool like her father as her friends rushed her out the door, but she had too much of her mother inside of her to remain unexcited for long.

 

One of the many benefits to growing up in a Hidden Village was the older generation’s rather lax concept of supervision. Once someone reached an age where they could fight and die for their people, little things like drinking, living alone, and (Sasuke forbid) sex we’re a free for all. Which is how three teenage girls not only encountered zero resistance when they arrived at one of the Shinobi-only clubs in the Hidden Leaf, they quickly spotted some of their age mates already lounging at the bar.

 

“Niisan!” Himawari gleefully shouted, easily passing through the crowd to reach her brother. Very few ninja missed the arrival of their Hokage’s youngest, and they obligingly catered to nearly her every whim, including making a pathway for the three girls.

 

Boruto’s enthusiastic smile immediately turned into a glare, “What are you wearing, Hima?” He demanded.

 

Himawari smiled innocently, “A dress.”

 

“I think you forgot part of it,” Boruto said, shrugging his jacket off, “Put this on.”

 

Himawari smiled wider, dimpling, “But niisan, we spent so much time getting ready to celebrate Sarada’s promotion! We don’t want to cover up. Don’t we look pretty?” As she spoke, Himawari slowly inched closer to a very amused Shikadai and Inojin, revealing Sarada standing behind her.

 

Boruto’s jaw dropped dramatically and Sarada nearly turned the color of her dress. Inojin coughed a laugh into his drink as Shikadai and Himawari wore matching smirks. Chocho slithered up to Boruto’s other side and smiled at Mizuki flirtatiously, unconcerned with the Uzumaki children’s current spat.

 

“You look like a girl,” Boruto finally blurted to Sarada. The blush on her face concentrated into an angry flush.

 

“That’s because I am one, baka!” Sarada huffed.

 

“I mean, um. Yeah, I know, uh,” Boruto babbled, panicked eyes wide.

 

“Well that was pathetic,” Inojin said before Himawari frantically hushed him.

 

“Sarada-san!” A voice happily exclaimed from the dancefloor. Sarada felt a migraine coming on at the concept of dealing with both Boruto and him. “You are a perfect picture of youth, vibrant as the blood of your enemies!” If possible, Metal Lee was even more ridiculous than his father.

 

“Metal-kun. Hi,” Sarada said unenthusiastically, turning her back to Boruto.

 

“Would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?” Metal asked, teeth sparkling unnaturally as he smiled. A refusal sat naturally on the tip of Sarada’s tongue, but she kept her lips firmly shut and studied Metal carefully. Perhaps she could make his night and do something for herself.

Sarada finally nodded and walked by Metal towards the dancefloor, “Coming?”

 

“Oh, yes!” Metal shouted, following Sarada into the sea of people.

 

“I think that is called a ‘diss’,” Mizuki said to Boruto, smiling, seemingly unconcerned that Chocho was more-or-less molesting his arm.

 

“Gee, thanks,” Bouto growled, glaring after Sarada and Metal.

 

“Must I do everything?” Himawari demanded, “Go! Go now,” she pushed Boruto off of his bar stool, “Now!”

 

Boruto stumbled slightly before collecting himself, as if nothing had happened and moving into the crowd was entirely his own idea. Himawari smirked and motioned for the bartender to bring her a sake.

 

Boruto weaved through the writhing bodies, shaking more than one woman (and man) off. Being both the Hokage’s son and a hometown hero made acquiring dates, or hook-ups, rather easy; they just weren’t with the right person.

 

Boruto finally spotted Sarada rather unenthusiastically dancing a respectable distance from Metal, trying to stay clear of his flailing limbs. Boruto squared his shoulder and pressed his front to her back.

 

“Mind if I cut in?” He whispered, barely an inch from her ear. He felt Sarada shiver and stiffen.

 

“Don’t you want to find a girl to dance with? Oh, sorry, I forgot I’m one of those now,” Sarada said, not turning to face him. Boruto hesitated for a breath before placing his hands lightly on her hips, and waited another to see if he would lose his balls before speaking.

 

“I’m sorry, Sarada,” Boruto said, voice still soft, “I’m an idiot.” Sarada’s form relaxed slightly.

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“You look beautiful,” Boruto said honestly, shoving down the urge to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. Ironically, since Sasuke would probably castrate him if he saw them now, Boruto tried to channel his calm-and-collected surrogate uncle rather than his father.

 

“I do?” Sarada asked in a small voice, finally turning her face slightly towards Boruto. She silently scolded herself for caring about her appearance at all on a night that was about her accomplishments. Then scolded herself again for caring at all what Boruto thought of her. But even as she did so, she knew deep down that she cared very much what Boruto thought of her, appearance-wise or otherwise.

“You always do,” Boruto continued, unsure where his courage was coming from, “Whether you’re wearing this dress or a muddy uniform.”

 

Sarada turned until her lips brushed Boruto’s jaw as she spoke. Metal took that as his cue to leave his friends, and smiled to himself as he joined the others at the bar; he hoped their loved worked out in the springtime of their youth!

 

“Walk me home?” Sarada asked. It took Boruto a moment to process what she’d said and nod; the whisper of her lips on his skin was horribly distracting.

 

The teenagers slipped out of the bar, Boruto’s arm around Sarada’s shoulder, not even remembering to say goodbye to their friends. Not that they needed to--the others had been watching them like hawks.

 

(“Finally!” Himawari shouted after them.)

 

The two walked in companionable silence, their new intimate proximity feeling strangely natural.

 

“I always knew you’d be the first to make jounin,” Boruto finally said.

 

“Shikadai made it at the same time,” Sarada pointed out, blushing none the less. She was on the way to becoming the color of one of her father’s favorite tomatoes if she kept it up.

 

“Yes, but he’s a strategic genius. My father had to promote him or he’ll be too lazy to ever do anything. You have the fire to lead,” Boruto said. Sarada considered her teammate; he’d truly grown up and out of childhood.

 

“Thank you, Boruto,” Sarada said softly as they approached the Uchiha household.

 

“Anytime,” He said sheepishly, squeezing her lightly once before awkwardly dropping her arm to hang at his side.

 

The two stared at each other for a moment, and while Boruto grew increasingly flustered, Sarada smiled.

 

“We should go on a date,” She decided, “Tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven.” Boruto nodded, stunned.

 

“Good.” Sarada said, letting loose a full-blown smirk. She leaned forward, surprised she now needed to be on her tiptoes, and pecked him softly on the lips. There was a loud crash from inside the Uchiha home.

 

“That would be Mama restraining Papa. Don’t be late, Boruto,” Sarada said, then casually turned on her heel and walked into her home.

 

Boruto started. And stared. Then stared and smiled.

 

He smiled all the way home, through Himawari’s teasing and his parent’s questions over breakfast, and couldn’t help but smile some more as his cheeks began to ache, because they matched the pleasant ache in his heart.


End file.
